


Marriage Story

by irrelevanttous



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Marriage Story (2019) Fusion, Christmas, F/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrelevanttous/pseuds/irrelevanttous
Summary: Jasper and Alice go through a painful divorce. Will the letters they wrote each other in couple therapy save their marriage?
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale, Edythe Cullen/Bella Swan, if you squint
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Jalice Secret Santa 2020





	Marriage Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wehavefound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wehavefound/gifts).



> I wrote this story for our Jalice Secret Santa, and it's for the lovely @wehavefound. I hope you like it, it turned out a lot longer than I planned.

_**Marriage Story** _

He hated this.

Hated every second of it. Hated the sick, nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Hated the underlying fury that he was not allowed to show. Hated that he didn’t know what it meant. Hated that it was socially acceptable for other people to flirt with his wife now. Hated that he couldn’t do anything about it.

It was the evening of the parent-teacher conference. He drove over to the school straight from work, not even stopping by his apartment to change or take a shower. He was still wearing his suit and tie, and he felt a little overdressed. People would stare.

In his car, he’d racked his brain trying to remember which child he was supposed to talk about tonight. It was Charlotte, he was pretty sure about it, but he couldn’t be certain. It hadn’t said that in the E-Mail, nor had Alice texted him that particular detail.

_The conference is at 7. Please be punctual._

Back when things had been better between them, she never would have sent him a text like this. Alice hated all things formal. She was the kind of person that used way too many emojis, whether she was talking about Peter’s football practice or scheduling an appointment. She was creative; he’d always liked that about her. Her many ideas seemed to overflow constantly, spilling out of her whenever someone asked her about them.

Back then, Jasper would lie next to her for hours, just listening to her ramble on and on about a design she was thinking of. She would try to describe it to him in every little detail, and then be annoyed when he didn’t know what she was talking about. She’d always say he lacked imagination. Jasper couldn’t argue with that. He’d always been more of a practical person. His head wasn’t constantly in the clouds like hers was. He was a realist; she was a dreamer.

Perhaps that was the reason why things hadn’t worked out between them.

He crossed the parking lot, approaching the entrance of the building. She was already there, standing in front of the doors, chatting. Right now, she seemed to be in a conversation with Demetri Young, Freddie’s father. Freddie was in Peter’s class and a little older than Peter. Peter didn’t like Freddie, had called him a bully on more than one occasion. And Jasper had never liked Demetri, had never liked the way the man was looking at Alice.

During their relationship, Jasper had never been an overly jealous person. Sure, he didn’t enjoy watching someone else flirt with his wife. But who liked that? It was different now. They weren’t together anymore. Alice wasn’t his wife anymore. Technically, she still was, at least when it came down to laws and such things, but it had been such a long time since they’d actually acted like a married couple that he could hardly even remember it anymore. They had split up—officially—four months ago, and yet their problems had started long before that.

But Jasper didn’t want to think about that right now. He had almost reached the parents—it wasn’t just Alice and Demetri standing in front of the entrance, every parent of every child in their kids’ class seemed to be there—and Demetri had already spotted him. The look the man gave Jasper made him wonder if he knew… knew about their impending divorce. They hadn’t told anyone at the school, mostly because Alice didn’t want to be the subject of the gossip. This, at least, she and Jasper had always agreed on: They couldn’t stand most of the other parents with their minivans, righteous attitudes, and fake smiles. 

But her reluctance to tell people about it meant they had to pretend everything was all right, when, in truth, _nothing_ was all right. Jasper had moved out after a particularly bad argument back in August. For a few weeks, he’d stayed with Rosalie and Emmett, but they’d gotten sick of him quickly, too. Thankfully, it hadn’t been too difficult to find a new apartment and he made enough money now to be able to afford it.

Earlier, he had been surprised that Alice hadn’t asked him to meet her at the house today so that they could come here together. Or perhaps she’d simply decided that secrecy didn’t matter anymore and that people would find out about them eventually anyway.

“Jasper!” she said when she saw him and came to meet him. When she pulled his face down to kiss him on the lips shortly—a small peck, nothing more, but it still made his lips burn—he concluded that she _did_ still care about secrecy. “How was work?”

She looked good; he couldn’t help realising it while staring down at her. Ever since she’d started wearing her own designs, Jasper hadn’t been able to look away from the stunning sight of her. It gave her so much more personality than all these women who surrounded them possessed, in their monochrome cardigans, Mom jeans and stiletto heels. Alice had never tried to fit in, and he’d always loved that about her.

He shrugged. “Exhausting. It always is these days.”

She gave a short nod of acknowledgement and turned back to the other parents. He figured if appearances were what she cared about, she wouldn’t mind it if he slipped his arm around her waist. Alice straightened her back a little when he did, and curled her lips, but otherwise showed no reaction.

He greeted Demetri in a polite tone, although he could just barely force the words through his teeth. The other man grinned at him; Jasper had a feeling he knew something was up.

Another woman came to a stop in front of them, someone Jasper didn’t immediately recognise.

“Alice! Jasper.” She hugged them both while he was trying to remember who she was. He didn’t miss that she’d said his name with a lot less enthusiasm than Alice’s.

Thankfully, Alice seemed to know her. “Leah, I’m so glad we get a chance to chat. I’ve been meaning to call you for ages. We must have another playdate sometime soon. Peter has been going on and on about Paul’s Lego cowboy set. He wanted to borrow it, but I didn’t think that would be a good idea, we’d never get all the pieces back to you if he did.”

The two women laughed. “I agree,” Leah said. “But Peter is welcome to come over anytime for a playdate. You know how much I adore your little boy.”

“And Paul is such a polite young man,” Alice said. “The other day he asked me if he could go to the bathroom, can you imagine that? He asked me for _permission_!”

Jasper was only listening with one ear to the conversation that followed while he looked around in search of the only two people he actually wanted to see. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to be here.

After a while, Alice tugged at his shirt, bringing his attention back on her. Her eyes were oddly suspicious, as they always were these days. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Just Bella and Edythe,” he replied.

“Oh, they’re not coming.” Alice, as usual, knew more than him. “Bella said that Nessie’s grades are so good and she’s so well behaved that they will sit this one out.” She rolled her eyes.

He resisted the urge to do the same. “Unlike Charlotte, they mean? It was just that one incident, and she was just defending herse—”

“I _know_ that,” Alice said. “Let’s not start this discussion again right now, okay?”

“It just annoys me that they’re sitting on this high horse, you know? Nessie doesn’t seem to have much fun in her life, and I don’t see how that’s a good thing. At least our children are actually living a little.”

“I don’t think they were questioning our parenting, Jazz. I think they just didn’t have the time to come here tonight.”

He nodded, though he was still irritated. She threw a glance at her watch, told him it was time, and pulled him along with her into the building.

Jasper remembered the last time they’d been here together, at the annual summer fair. It had been a few weeks before he’d moved out, and one of the last good days their family had spent together. Well, not that their family per se didn’t have good moments after that. But things had been different between him and Alice after their arguments and it always turned the overall mood sour, even when they were pulling themselves together in front of the kids.

They went inside _Charlotte’s_ —thank god he recognised the room as his daughter’s—classroom. Alice had shaken off his arm subtly as soon as they were out of sight from the other parents and it left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

In front of the teacher, Alice pretended that everything was fine, even when Mrs Donnelly straight up asked them if things were all right at home.

“Why wouldn’t they be?” she wondered, and Jasper threw her a glance full of incredulity. Lying to the other parents was one thing, but lying to their child’s teacher? He was convinced that the teacher had looked right through them despite Alice’s words, but the woman only nodded matter-of-factly and scribbled down something on the form in front of her.

The reason for the question, as it turned out, was that Charlotte was more distracted during the lessons, her little head seemingly in another world. A few days ago, the teacher had found her in the girl’s restroom, crying her eyes out for no apparent reason. Jasper and Alice exchanged concerned glances, before promising they would talk to their daughter to figure out what the cause was.

When they stepped out of the room, he could only take a few steps until Alice spun around to face him. “Why do you always have to do that?”

“Do what?” He sighed. He’d known this was coming.

“Be so passive. You always let me do all the talking.”

“You _want_ to do all the talking.”

“Don’t you care about your daughter enough to have some questions of your own?”

She knew how to push his buttons and her words made the anger flare up inside him once again. “Of course, I care. I care about our children more than I care about anyone else in this world.” Except for you, he thought, but didn’t say it. “I would do anything for them. But you asked all the questions, so I didn’t have to, did I? Why do we have to do this again? You know I don’t like going to these things.”

“Oh, because you don’t think that it needs to be discussed every once in a while, how our kids are doing?” Alice snapped back. “In Texas, this might be the way you guys are doing things, you know, just sending out your kids into the world but that’s not how—”

“Not this again,” he groaned. “Please, for God’s sake, Alice. I’m here, aren’t I? I _care_. And I would see them every day if I could, but I can’t, which is painful enough without you berating me for my various flaws, okay? Can we please not fight again? I’m tired, it was a long day.”

Alice, to his surprise, shut her mouth and didn’t say anything else about the matter. They walked quietly next to each other through the hallways.

“I’m worried about Charlotte,” she said when they reached the parking lot. He had walked her over to her car and they were standing in front of it now. When she’d bought it, Jasper had made fun of her teasingly, telling her that it suited her personality very well. It was true, the yellow Porsche 911 Turbo looked a lot like he imagined Alice’s mind: quick, bright, colourful. He’d also thought at the time that it was too extravagant, too expensive, but hadn’t told her about these thoughts. She would have called him a spoilsport, and she would have been right. He had always been the more practical one in their marriage and hadn’t seen the need for such an expensive car.

Now, that conversation was the first thing that popped into his mind while staring at the car, directly followed by the memory of that one time they’d taken it out to the beach after dark. He’d fucked her right there on the hood of the car, under the stars, not caring if anyone drove by and saw them. She hadn’t either, although he knew she would have been embarrassed if it had actually happened. Jasper wondered if she was thinking about that night too, whenever she got into her car, whenever she drove around in it. He wondered if she was thinking about it right now.

Apparently not, because Alice continued, her voice still thick with worry, “I didn’t know about that crying in the restroom thing and it doesn’t sound good. And her teacher is right, she seems so distracted all the time. Sometimes I try to talk to her, and she doesn’t even hear me.”

Jasper hadn’t noticed that, not when the kids had been with him, and he mentally scanned through all his last interactions with his daughter. But no, Charlotte had been her usual, cheerful self.

“She wasn’t like that with me,” he said.

Alice frowned. “I think she misses you. Don’t get me wrong, Peter does, too, but he’s not really showing it that much. But Char… she’s always been your little girl. I feel like it’s harder for her.”

He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to think about it because the tears were already starting to blur his vision. He missed Charlotte, too. And Peter. He wanted nothing more than for things to return to normal.

“Alice,” he began, but she had already averted her eyes, staring at her car instead.

“I should get back. Angela asked me if I could be back before nine and take over so that she could still go out.”

Jasper nodded. “Say thanks to Angela for me. I’m glad she’s helping you with the kids.”

Alice shrugged. “It’s just for when I go out.”

He immediately wondered _how_ _often_ she went out, or with whom, but he bit back the question. It wasn’t any of his business, not anymore.

“So, I’m guessing we won’t see each other until the new year, right?” Alice said. “You’re going back home for the holidays, aren’t you?”

He nodded again, although it was a lie. He’d told her he would spend Christmas and New Year’s in Texas with his parents, but he hadn’t booked a flight, nor did he intend to go home. If he did, his mother and father would only pester him about the divorce, telling him what an idiot he was to let a woman like Alice go. They’d always loved Alice. Sometimes, in his weaker moments, Jasper suspected that they loved Alice more than they loved him.

No, this year, he would spend Christmas with a bottle of vodka in some bar, or alternatively alone on his couch, watching some stupid Christmas movie and bawling his eyes out, wondering at what exact moment he’d taken the wrong turn in his life.

Alice smiled, but he couldn’t quite decipher the expression in her eyes. Was it a hint of sadness? Was it regret? Before he could examine it further, it was already gone.

“I’m glad you’ll be with them,” she said. “You spend too much time on your own and you shouldn’t, especially not during the holidays.”

He wondered if she’d looked right through his façade, but she seemed serious about her first sentence so she probably hadn’t.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I like being alone.” Once upon a time, that had been true; before he’d met her, before they’d started dating. He had been a bit of a loner growing up. However, since he knew her, he’d never felt the desire to be alone if the alternative was to spend time in her presence. And now that they had children, he wanted to be around them all the time, too. He never grew tired of being with his family.

“You’re not working over the holidays, I hope?” he asked, in part to be polite, but also because he was genuinely worried about it.

Alice looked a little embarrassed and avoided his eyes again. “I will try not to, but I’ve got a deadline and I—”

“Alice,” he interrupted. “Please don’t. You know how important Christmas is to them, how much they love it. Surely, you can finish your designs after the holidays. You’re kind of a big deal, Jacob won’t rip your head off if you hand them in a few days after your deadline. “

“It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid.” Alice sighed. “But you’re right. I’ll try to finish them before that.” She gave him a weak smile, but it looked a little unsure. At that moment, Jasper realised that she was just as confused about this whole situation—about how to act—as he was. “You’ll call, won’t you? Facetime? And they’ll expect presents from you, too, I can buy some if you want, but it would be nice if you could write them a card or—”

“I _have_ bought presents, Alice.” His tone was slightly annoyed again. “And there _will_ be cards, and I _will_ facetime.” How, he wasn’t quite sure yet, because Alice would recognise the background of his apartment and would know that he wasn’t in Texas. Also, the children would want to speak to his parents, too, if he facetimed them. But he would figure something out.

“Sorry.” She sounded rueful. “I’m being unfair. I know you love them. I’m not trying to brand you as this uncaring parent, you know. It’s just… this is all new to me, too.”

Jasper knew what she meant and the desire to pull her into his arms was overwhelming. He didn’t, though, and instead said softly, “I know. We’ve spent every Christmas together since we were…” he pretended to count down the years, although he knew the number by heart, “… twenty-one. It will be strange this year.”

Alice seemed to want to say something before she turned to look at her car again. “Yeah. I guess… I wish you Happy Holidays, Jasper. Say hi to your parents for me and give them my love.”

“I will. Merry Christmas.” He watched as a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes formed on her face before she hugged him—quickly this time—and got into her car.

Jasper stepped aside to let her pass and watched as she drove off.

 _Yeah_ , he thought. _Merry fucking Christmas_.

**~*~**

_He falls completely in love with her the first time he sees her. When she steps into the small bookshop he works at, her hands full of cheesy romance novels, her glasses nearly falling off her face because she doesn’t have a hand free to push them up again. He takes the books off her hands and she looks up for the first time, up, up, up to meet his eyes, because she is so tiny that she hardly reaches up to his chest._

_“Woah, you’re tall,” she says, making him smile._

_“Only because you’re tiny.”_

_“I’m not tiny, I’m petite,” she shoots back, not really seeming offended though._

_“That you certainly are.”_

_She scoffs and then blushes as he inspects the books she just handed him. “I would like to… return those.”_

_He raises an eyebrow. “All of them?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Do you have a receipt?”_

_“Do I need one?”_

_He stares at her then, with an amused expression that makes her blush even harder. He likes it way more than he cares to admit._

_“Yes,” he says. “I can’t take these back without a receipt. When did you buy them?”_

_“To be honest,” she begins, biting her bottom lip, “I didn’t even buy all of them here.”_

_He laughs. He can’t believe this. “Not all of them? How many did you buy here?”_

_“None, actually.” She’s fully chewing on her lip now and he can’t look away._

_“So, let me get this straight. You want to return all of these books, for which you don’t have receipts, and none of which you bought here?”_

_She glares at him, although not really upset. “Yes, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous, I get it.”_

_Her words make him laugh again. “I’m sorry. Unfortunately, I can’t take them back.”_

_She nods matter-of-factly as if she’s already expected this answer. She gathers the books, balances them in front of her chest and turns around carefully while saying, “I understand, thanks for your time.”_

_“Wait!” he calls after her. He can’t let her go. “I can buy them if you want. Or donate them for you.”_

_She spins around again, and two books fall to the floor. He gets them for her, and takes the others off her hands, too. “You’d do that?” she asks._

_“Sure. We’re a second-hand book shop, you know?” He points at the sign in the door. For some reason, the gesture makes her blush again._

_“Thanks,” she says. “I really, really need to get rid of them, I don’t even care what happens to them.”_

_“Bad break-up?” he guesses and from the look on her face, he gathers that he hit the mark. The next thing he says surprises him, “You could tell me all about it—or not—over a coffee. My break is in ten minutes.” He never says things like that and for a moment, he can’t believe those words just slipped out. But there’s something about her, and he can’t let her go._

_She smiles. “You know what? I’d love to.”_

**~*~**

She hated this.

Hated that it had come to this. Hated that he left her here alone with the kids for the holidays, not even asking if he could come. Hated that she was constantly worried about him sleeping with someone from his office. Hated that he was technically allowed to. Hated that she still cared.

It was Christmas Eve. They hadn’t been at church, not this time. Not with the pandemic still raging on. She and the kids had met up with Bella, Edythe, and Nessie earlier. Charlotte and Nessie were the best of friends, so naturally, Charlotte wanted to stay at the Masen’s house for dinner when Bella invited them. Alice had declined; she had not really been in the mood. She’d always spent Christmas Eve with Jasper; it had been their favourite day of the holidays. They’d liked it better to just spend time together with their kids; the days that followed were always too stressful, always too messy, always too busy. When Peter turned five, he’d heard about the tradition they had in other countries where they opened the presents on the 24th, and he’d asked if they could do it like that this year. That’s when the tradition had started, and they’d always done it that way ever since.

Only now, Alice was sitting alone on the couch next to the Christmas tree, with a glass of wine—not her first—in her hand. The presents were still wrapped, and the children impatient. She felt like she was waiting for something, but couldn’t say for what. For him to call? To see his face, even if it was just on the small screen of her smartphone? He hadn’t given her the presents he’d said he bought, and the kids had immediately noticed their absence when they’d entered the room.

Even the Christmas tree looked sadder than usual, although that was probably just her imagination playing tricks on her. They’d always decorated it together, ever since they’d started dating.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years ago, she’d walked into the bookshop where he was working at the time, and had tried to return her cheesy romance novels. While he’d asked her out, the novels had just sat there, forgotten in a corner. He’d never given her the money for them, had never even told her what he’d done with them. Donated them, she guessed. Jasper couldn’t throw away any books, no matter how bad they were. She’d always loved that about him.

She loved it so much, in fact, that she’d even included it in her letter.

The letters had been an idea of their mediator. The woman had asked them to write down everything they loved about each other. Then, when they were finished, she’d asked them to read them aloud, to tell the other person these things. The only problem was that Alice hadn’t been able to, because she was too embarrassed about what she’d written down. And then, of course, Jasper hadn’t wanted to read his letter, either. It was another one of the things she loved/hated about him: his stubbornness.

Therefore, the letter was still sitting in the drawer of her upstairs dressing table, unopened, unread. There was a part of her that desperately wanted to know what Jasper had written down about her, but she couldn’t very well ask him now, not after she’d straight out refused to read hers during the session. It also wasn’t like it really mattered anymore. The divorce was underway, their lawyers had already scheduled the first meeting. Her own lawyer, a lady specialised in divorce cases, had told her to prepare for a mudslinging, but Alice didn’t really expect it would be this bad. She and Jasper could be civil, she knew they could. And truthfully, she still cared about him a great deal, too much to have any desire to make him suffer and lose everything.

That, of course, had been different in the night when she’d found out about him and Maria. He’d forgotten his phone at home while going to watch a game at Emmett’s, and his colleague—who Alice remembered as this sexy, curvaceous Latina—had texted him a series of raunchy messages.

Alice had confronted him when he got home and he didn’t deny it, although never explicitly stating that he was sleeping with the woman either. In the argument that followed, Jasper had confronted her with the facts that she was never home, always working late, always flying out to this fashion show or that one, and that she didn’t spend enough time with him anymore. She’d screamed at him, not able to believe that he was using her success as a means to justify his cheating. Jasper had yelled back, and they’d had the worst fight of their entire relationship. It hadn’t been the only one, and after two months of constant bickering about every little thing, she’d told him that she wanted a divorce.

The truth was, she’d regretted the words immediately after they’d slipped out of her mouth, but she couldn’t take them back. He’d stared at her in shock for what seemed to be a long time, before saying, “Fine. If that’s what you want,” and storming off.

The sound of the doorbell pulled Alice out of her thoughts and startled her, so that she nearly spilt the wine all over the couch. She’d already had it cleaned twice since they bought it last year: The first time had been when Charlotte had drawn onto it with her Crayola markers. It had been a mess, and their daughter was grounded for three days after that incident.

The second time the couch had to be cleaned, had been their own fault: she and Jasper had had the house all to themselves for a night, and he’d insisted on taking her on top of every flat surface they owned. She blushed as she remembered that night while she put her glass down onto the sideboard and rushed to the door.

When she opened it, she froze as she saw who was standing outside. “Jasper! What are you doing here?”

He gave her a bright smile that melted her heart despite the promise she’d made to never feel that way about him ever again. “I thought I would deliver my presents myself.”

Before he could say anything else, Peter and Charlotte stormed past Alice to jump into his arms. “Daddy!” He picked them both up at the same time and whirled them around, all three of them laughing. The sight of them made Alice’s heart ache. It didn’t give her any kind of pleasure to keep them apart.

“Daddy, what did you get me for Christmas?” Charlotte asked, her voice almost too quiet for Alice to hear.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he promised. “I won’t spoil the surprise.”

Over their children’s shoulders, Jasper threw Alice an apologetic look. _Sorry for showing up unannounced like this_ , he mouthed. She waved it off. “Come on in, don’t stay out there in the cold.”

Peter and Charlotte were still clinging onto him as he followed Alice into the living room. He gently put them down then, and placed his Christmas presents next to hers under the tree. The children were distracted after that, and he turned to face Alice again.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I won’t stay, I just came over to give them the present in person, but I’ll be—”

“What time’s your flight?” she asked.

Jasper didn’t immediately respond, and she sighed.

“You’re not going to Texas, are you?”

His guilty expression told her everything she needed to know, but he still said, “No. You know what my parents are like. It was the last thing I needed this year.”

He didn’t have to explain what he meant; she knew his parents well. They loved her, and they weren’t happy with them getting a divorce. Back in the small town where he’d grown up, it was a shameful thing to get one. People believed in the concept of ‘sticking it out’ down there.

“Stay here, then. I meant it when I said that you shouldn’t spend the holidays on your own. I wouldn’t feel good about that.”

“That’s not why I came, Alice. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to offer—”

“Hush now,” she interrupted. “You’re staying and that’s final.”

“Daddy is staying?” Peter was standing beside them, tugging at Jasper’s shirt. After a few seconds, he looked at Alice. “Really, Mom?”

“Yeah, he is.” She glanced at Jasper again. “If he wants, that is.”

“Of course I want to.” He gave her a look she could not decipher, before he picked up Peter again and started tickling him. “I think you’re going to like my present, young man.” Peter giggled happily and Charlotte—who never enjoyed being left out—threw herself into the mix as well, while Alice picked up her wine glass again and leaned back against the sofa cushions. Something had been missing from her evening, and while she did not want to admit that it was _him_ , she also deep down knew that it probably was.

The evening progressed. Sometime after he’d shown up on her doorstep, they’d opened a bottle of wine; they had already drunk half of it, the atmosphere between them lighter than it had been in a long time. Both of them were keeping their problems to themselves and were just focused on their children who were running around, playing with their new toys, and singing and dancing to silly Christmas songs. At some point, Jasper got his guitar from the attic and played for them, encouraging the children to sing with him. The tune sounded rather off-key, which admittedly wasn’t so much his fault as it was Charlotte’s and Peter’s, who sang the lyrics to an entirely different song. The performance still made Alice smile. She’d missed this, had missed all of them spending time together.

The kids had unwrapped nearly all their presents already when Charlotte suddenly pulled out something from underneath the tree, walked over to Jasper’s side almost shyly, and handed him a letter.

“That’s for you, daddy,” she said, and he beamed at her, making her giggle. “For me? Why, thank you, Char.”

Alice smiled, too, and ruffled through Charlotte’s hair gently when her daughter came crawling over to cuddle into her lap.

Jasper used a paper-knife Alice had bought him a few years ago—which normally served more of an aesthetic purpose—to open the envelope before he unfolded a white piece of paper. Alice expected a quick reaction, thinking Charlotte had drawn something for him, but his eyes wandered over the paper slowly and widened with each passing second.

“Did you write Daddy a letter? That’s very nice of you,” Alice whispered into Charlotte’s ear, and the girl shook her head.

“I didn’t. You did.”

Alice stared down at her without blinking while she took in that information. Then, her eyes flew over to the envelope that Jasper had placed next to him. And indeed, the handwriting was undoubtedly _hers_. Looking up at the piece of paper Jasper— who was still reading the words she had written about him— was holding, Alice felt her heart start to speed up. She had not planned for him to ever read that letter.

A sense of dread filled her. _God, what will he think of me after reading that_? She suppressed the urge to snatch it from his hands: his expression terrified her. He looked so surprised, so genuinely shocked at her written words. It took him a long time to finish reading it—she had written almost three pages, and in her tiny handwriting—and when he put it down, he stared at her, thunderstruck.

“What did you think?” Charlotte asked.

“Uh,” Jasper said, clearly at a loss for words. “Char, I don’t think Mommy wanted me to read that. Where did you find this?”

Charlotte glanced down at her hands. “In Mom’s dressing table.”

“We’ve talked about this. Going through our things? What did we say about that?” Jasper asked her, his expression strict. Alice would have given the lecture herself, but she was unable to speak, still too shocked to comprehend what had happened.

Their daughter lowered her head. “‘Don’t do it’, you said. Sorry, Mom.”

Without another word, Jasper handed the letter back to Alice. She wanted him to react differently, wanted him to react _at all_ , but he seemed determined to ignore the incident.

For the rest of the night, things were more than just a little awkward between them. Neither of them could really look the other in the eyes.

When it was the children’s bedtime, Peter wanted Jasper to take them upstairs, and he gave her a questioning look. She nodded; sure, why not. It had always been one of his favourite parts of being a dad anyway, tucking them in and reading them bedtime stories.

Alice put the glasses and wine bottle away and cleaned the desk. Then, she threw out the wrapping paper which the children had thrown to the floor heedlessly. When she returned to the living room, Jasper was back, leaning against the doorframe that led to the kitchen.

“Are they asleep already?” she asked to distract from the awkwardness.

Jasper nodded. “I didn’t even get halfway through the story. They were deadbeat.”

“It was nice that you were here today,” she said and genuinely meant it. “It was good for the kids to spend time with both of us. They’ve missed those family times.”

“I’ve missed them, too.” Jasper pushed himself off the doorframe and walked over to where she stood. “Alice—”

“Don’t. Please,” she said. “I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe Char went through my things. You were never supposed to read that.”

“I’m glad I did.” He smiled down at her sadly. Then he reached inside the back pocket of his jeans. “It’s only fair that you’ll get to read mine, too.”

“Jasper, you don’t have to—”

“No, I… I want you to read it. I mean it,” he added when he saw her expression. “I would have read it to you at the counsellor session, too, but I… I don’t know, for some reason, I decided to be a total asshole about it when you didn’t want to show me yours. Sorry about that.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Alice said and carefully took the letter he was holding in his outstretched hand. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve never had a problem with admitting how I feel about you, Alice. There’s nothing in there that you don’t already know, I think.”

For some reason, she felt scared when she opened the envelope. She walked over to the couch and sank down on top of it.

Jasper looked as if he wanted to join her, but hesitated. “Do you… want me to get out? So you can read it?”

She nodded, grateful for that. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to read it while he was standing here, staring at her and scanning her face for her reaction. “Maybe you can already get the bed ready in the guest bedroom while I’m reading it?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” With those words he left the room, leaving her to her thoughts. And to his letter.

With shaking hands, she unfolded the piece of paper.

_Alice._

_How do I describe Alice? It feels impossible, like, there isn’t just one way to do it. It wouldn’t do her justice, wouldn’t capture the depth of her personality and her many traits, the good ones or the bad. But let me start with the good ones._

_The obvious thing to say about Alice is that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I knew it when I first saw her, and I know it now, looking at her while we’re sitting in this office. I love the way she always pushes her eyebrows together when she concentrates. Which she is doing right now. Seriously, I can hardly think about the task of writing this letter, because that little gesture right there, that’s Alice. I could stop writing this letter now, because this describes her perfectly._

_But of course, that’s not everything. I love that little frown even more while she’s working on one of her designs. They blow me away every time she shows them to me. I love that she shows them to me, even though she knows I don’t know a damn thing about fashion. But I know a thing or two about art, and her designs **are** art. They’re the definition of it. Seriously, if you look up the word ‘art’ in the dictionary, I’m sure Alice’s name will come up. Whether that be because she is art herself, or because she creates it. Both are true._

_I love the way she smiles at me when she talks about our friends Edythe and Bella and their daughter, Nessie. I love how much she cares about them, while at the same time constantly being annoyed at them. I love how hard she works to make that friendship—or all her friendships in general—work. I love that she’s here with me right now, trying to fix our relationship, too. I love that I always know what she’s thinking or feeling and not because she is an open book or anything, but because I know her so well. I’ve known her from the first moment we met. I’ve been with other girls before I met her, but I’ve never felt more connected to anybody. That still hasn’t changed. She is still the only woman I see._

_Which is why it’s so incomprehensible to me to believe that she thinks I cheated on her. I would never—and I swear this—never do that. I know many husbands say that and many of them don’t mean it, but I do._

_Alice, I have never, and will never cheat on you._

_But I guess this is the part where we get to the problems, right? I’m not sure that is still the task we’re supposed to do right now, but I will include it anyway because I feel like I’ve missed my chance to speak out about this._

_Maria is in love with me. She told me this many times and I’ve always turned her down. She sends me these types of messages regularly, and I block her every time I receive one, but she always apologizes, tells me that it won’t happen again and that she was drunk or whatever, and I give in, unblocking her number again. She is a colleague and she sometimes has to call me for work-related things, so I can’t just ignore her. I’ve spoken to HR about this, they told me they would send her a warning. Only that usually, after two months or so of radio silence, she will send those messages again and the circle starts again._

_I’m not trying to excuse anything. I should have handled it differently, the whole situation. Perhaps I should have looked for a new job. There is one thing I will not deny, though, and that is that I’ve liked the attention. Before you burn this letter and murder my ass, please hear me out: What I’m saying is that we’ve been married for more than ten years now, and naturally, things aren’t as they once were. And I do not expect that. And I love that you’re a successful, badass, internationally acclaimed fashion designer. However, this also means that I hardly see you anymore. Even when you’re home, you’re usually working. And I get it, you love your job and I would never make you choose between the job and me, but lately, I’ve been feeling… neglected. When was the last time we had sex? Can you even remember? And I know that, while I’ll read that question out loud, you’ll give me that look, that ‘God, why did you have to say that’ look, and I want you to know that I love that look, too. I love every part of you._

_I just want us to have some more time for each other, for our family._

_So yeah. I guess that’s my letter. I guess I’m throwing all of that on the table now. I hope you can forgive me for not saying these things to you privately. I should have said them repeatedly, every day. I should have communicated better what I wanted._

_Spoiler alert, it’s you._

_You’re what I want._

_Please forgive me for being an asshole. Please forgive me for not telling you about Maria. Please… just please._

_I love you._

_Jasper._

_PS: I need to add this because I’m looking at you right now as I write this: God, you look sexy in that dress._

Alice could hardly see anything, her vision blurred by all the tears. The letter had shocked, surprised, touched, and slightly angered her, all over the short span of a couple of minutes. Truthfully, now that she had finished reading it, she had no idea what to think anymore. Her emotions were a colourful, tumbling chaos and she had a hard time trying to figure out where she stood now. There had been new information in his letter, but also some things she had already known. Some of these things Jasper had told her; some he hadn’t.

She felt as if his letter was better than hers, that he’d captured her personality better on paper than she had with her letter. She’d never expected his letter to unsettle her in the way that it had. She had thought she was steadfast in her opinions and decisions. But now she didn’t feel steadfast at all.

The one thing she was sure of was that she had to talk to him about it. She wiped away the tears with the sleeve of her Christmas sweater and got up. Putting her glass away on the way, she went upstairs to find Jasper.

**~*~**

_While she looks down at his blond locks, spread out on her lap, she wonders when she will ever get used to calling him her ‘husband’. They got married not even two months ago, in a small ceremony with only their best friends and closest relatives. She was glad that Carlisle and Esme had been there: It wouldn’t have been the same without her adoptive parents._

_His eyes are closed as she runs her fingers over his sweaty forehead. She never gets tired of looking at him, he is a very attractive guy. When she first saw him, through the window of that bookshop, she knew she wanted to meet him. Selling her cheesy romance novels—most of which James had given her—had just been a bonus._

_He smiles when she starts humming a little tune, his eyes still closed. It’s the song that played at their wedding. The one that made her sob while they were dancing._

_His head is resting on one of her legs, her sketchbook on the other. She knows he thinks she’s working on a design, but really, she’s drawing him. She wants to perpetuate this moment, and how happy she is right now. She’s already done a rough draft of his face, and she’s surprisingly happy with it._

_“I love that song,” he says, and she puts her pencil behind her ear so that she can lean down, hold his face and kiss him, his lips upside down. “I love you,” she replies, and it makes him smile even more._

_He opens his eyes then and looks up at her. She likes those rare moments; usually, it’s the other way around, with his gigantic height and her tiny—_ petite _—figure. She wonders for a brief moment what people might think about them when they see them together, and then decides that she doesn’t care._

_“I can’t believe it. Do you get these moments? Where you just can’t believe how lucky you are?”, he asks and she nods._

_“All the time. Constantly, when I’m with you.”_

_“Do you think that feeling will ever go away?”_

_“I hope not.” She pushes the blond strand of hair out of his face and he closes his eyes again. He’s tired, he’s had to do all the work today and she feels a little guilty. But he always insists that he doesn’t mind; he likes getting her off almost more than being on the receiving end of the pleasure. He likes making her feel good. It’s one of the reasons why she loves him, although she wants to reciprocate so badly._

_“Get some rest. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow,” she tells him and sees how his jaw tightens just a little. She knows he’s nervous about tomorrow. The new job pays significantly better than his old one at the bookstore, but it’s also a lot less fun. She knows how much he loved the old job. She was worried when he told her about the offer he’d gotten, worried that it would take his joy and soul. She still worries about that. But he insisted. He wants to make more money, wants for them to have a secure financial basis so that they can have that family they’ve always talked about._

_She didn’t tell him that it wasn’t really necessary for both of them to be successful. Just a few weeks ago, she signed her own contract and things are looking good. But she guesses, it’s harder for a man to accept that his wife might be the breadwinner in the relationship. Or maybe he doesn’t want to depend on her. She knows what his parents are like, knows how they raised him. Yeah, she thinks, that must be it._

_The corners of his mouth twitch into a wry smirk. “Don’t worry, Mrs Whitlock. You haven’t fully exhausted me yet.”_

_She puts the pencil and sketchbook away then, and looks down at him, her eyebrows raised although he can’t see her. “Does that mean you want another round?”_

_He opens one eye, lazily, “Give me five more minutes.”_

_She laughs. She will give him a lot more than five minutes. The rest of her life sounds like a good amount of time._

**~*~**

He couldn’t remember the last time he was so nervous.

Perhaps that one time when he had to make a speech at Rosalie and Emmett’s wedding. Or perhaps it had been when Peter’s football team was so close to winning against their rival school (they hadn’t, but at least it had been a tight game). Perhaps when Alice had walked down the aisle on their wedding day.

Yes, he decided. He felt a little like he had back then. Only then, he’d been more certain of her love for him, more certain of the future they were going to spend together. Now, nothing was certain.

He could hardly focus on stripping the bedding in the guest bedroom. He was trying not to feel bitter about the fact that she’d asked him to sleep here. He should be happy: At least he’d made it back into the house. And even though it was only for one night, it was one night less that he had to spend in his quiet, depressing apartment. One night where he was at least physically in the proximity of the three people he loved most in the world.

His mind was still reeling from reading her letter. Thank god for Charlotte, the cheeky little girl. He loved her even more for trying to bring their family back together, because that was undoubtedly what she was trying to do. Although she was probably still too young to understand it.

But Alice… Alice had looked positively terrified while he’d read her letter. He couldn’t stop reading it—would that have been the right thing to do, to respect her wishes?—No matter how hard he’d tried to just give it back to her without looking at it. But he’d been wondering about this letter for weeks after their counselling session. Back then, he just couldn’t understand why she didn’t want him to read it. Now, he could sort of understand it.

She didn’t like opening up too much, making herself too vulnerable. That, as he was sure of, was a remainder of her time in the foster care system. She’d been disappointed too many times. He’d always sworn to himself to never do that to her. And well... he’d failed miserably.

“Jasper.” Her voice from the doorway made him spin around. She looked stunning today, with that ridiculous Christmas sweater she’d gotten as a present from Edythe two years ago and the simple black leggings that almost looked too boring to be worn by someone as fashion-conscious as her. She’d tied her hair up in a messy bun, his favourite look on her. When they’d met, her hair had been a lot shorter than it was now, and she’d worn it in a pixie-cut—which, she’d admitted, had been the result of letting Rosalie practise haircuts on her. But the truth was: it didn’t matter how long her hair was, or what the hell she was wearing—although he could never admit this to her, of course—in his eyes she was always the most beautiful person in the room.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly at a loss for words. Perhaps he should just tell her what he’d just thought, just tell her something nice, but no words came out of his mouth. So instead, he just stared at her like a deer in the headlights. He wondered if this was it. Was this the moment when his hopes and dreams would be buried, once and for all?

She gave him a weak smile that showed him that she was just as unsure about any of this as he was. Then she walked toward him and sat down onto the bed next to him. An irrational part of his brain wanted to tell her that he hadn’t even put clean sheets on the bed, yet, but he stopped himself before he could babble it out loud.

“I would like to… do this now,” she said.

He stared at her blankly, no idea what she was talking about. “Do what?” Fuck, his voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. He felt like a teenager all over again.

She looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time since she walked into the room. “I would like to read you my letter. I know you’ve already read it, but… I think we should do it the way the counsellor wanted us to do it.”

“Why?” He mentally kicked himself in the butt for his question. “Will it change anything?” They were getting a divorce. The first meeting was set.

“I don’t know,” Alice said, her tone quiet. “I don’t know. But I still want to do this. Please?”

He couldn’t really deny her anything, so he just nodded, a big lump in his throat. He sat down next to her then—leaving some space between them. She was so close—too close—and he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her. It would be so easy; he had a feeling that, maybe, with a little luck, she’d let him. Perhaps he should use this moment of weakness that she seemed to have, to remind her why they belonged together.

But he didn’t, because he would respect her choices and didn’t want to take advantage of her. Both of them had had a few glasses too many, and with the whole Christmas atmosphere, they were clearly not thinking straight.

She cleared her throat and unfolded her letter again. He wasn’t sure which one of them was more nervous when Alice started to read it out loud with a breathy voice.

_~~Reasons why I love Jasper.~~ _

_~~This task seems stupid, but okay, I guess I will just roll with it,~~ _

_Jasper,_

_I genuinely don’t know what good this will do. We’re here and that’s all I can offer for now. Don’t expect me to shower you with love and affection right now, because let me tell you, I am still pissed. I know I’m supposed to write down all the things I love about you, but I find that very hard at the moment. Because, the truth is, whenever I think about all the reasons why I love you, during these past weeks I’m always trying to remind myself of all the reasons why I don’t._

_I hate that you took that job after we got married and how it changed you. You used to be so full of energy, you know, always so enthusiastic about everything. Nowadays, when you come home, you throw your bag into the corner, eat something, watch TV and then go to bed. I get it, your job is stressful, but I don’t like what it’s doing to you._

_I also hate that you just won’t quit it. I know why—your damn pride—but it annoys me to no end. I make enough for the two of us, for fuck’s sake. Get over it. Plenty of guys stay at home with the kids these days. It’s normal. We’re not in Texas. We’re not living in the 19 th century. Get. Over. It._

_That being said: It’s not my place to tell you what to do and I know you won’t like this when I’ll read it out loud, but please, listen to me just this once: You love books. You’ve always loved them. You can’t throw away any books, even if they’re terrible. Back when we first started dating and I stayed over at your place those first few nights, you’d never put your book away. You would hold it in your hand while you were brushing your teeth, or making me breakfast, or watching me sleep (Yes, I know about that. You’re not very subtle.)._

_So please, just look for a job like the one you had at the bookstore. We’re comfortable now, we have a house, we have savings, I have my job. You can look for a job that fulfils you, honey. Your parents won’t eat you alive._

_God, I don’t know why I’ve never told you this. We should be able to talk about these things, right? Clearly, we’re not communicating very well. And I’m guessing this is why we’re here right? To learn how to do that. But the thing is: We were good at this, at the beginning, do you remember? We told each other everything. And now, I can’t even ask you if you’ve slept with Maria because I’m way too afraid that it could be true. ~~If you did, then congratulations you fucking asshole, you’ve~~_

_I am afraid. I am so, so afraid of that, Jazz. You haven’t denied it, and I don’t know why. You haven’t told me that it’s true, either. You were just as passive about it as you are about so many things these days, with the exception of our children, I guess. Is it that job? You don’t have to hide from me how much you hate it. Believe me, I **know**._

_If you slept with her… I think that would be it. I don’t think I could forgive that. But I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. You’re driving me crazy. It’s driving me crazy how much I love you and how afraid I am to lose you. There, I said it. I still love you. This is where I get to the task we have to do right now, to tell you about that. The thing is, Jazz: You know this. You know all of these things._

_What a great dad you are and how it makes my heart melt to watch you play with our children. You are so, so good with them. If I could go back in time and do it all over again, I would still want no other man to be the father of my children, no matter how much pain I’m in right now._

_You also know how attracted I am to you. I can’t stop thinking about all the times, all the ways we made love, seriously, Jazz, it’s all I think about while I’m lying awake alone in our bed. You’re such a selfless lover and that drives me crazy in every sense of the word, sometimes it annoys me so much, but most of the time I love that about you._

_I also love that sketch I drew of you shortly after we got married that you still don’t know about. I love that you don’t know about it, because you’d never go through my things or anything like that, things that other crazy, obsessive partners do. You’ve always respected me too much for that. Some days you even make me feel like I deserve it._

_You know where I came from. You know my background. You know how much it still haunts me sometimes. You know how insecure I can still be sometimes because of that. Thank you for coming with me that one time to find out about my real parents. I’ve only realised now that I took that for granted back then, but it meant so, so much to me. So yeah, thank you._

_Thank you for giving me Peter and Charlotte. They are the best thing we ever made, and I know you agree with me on this. Without them… I don’t know how I would cope right now. They’re the reason I’m still standing, they’re what drives me._

_I’ve talked about your pride, now let’s talk about my own: I need you to address that Maria-thing. I need you to tell me in a straightforward way what happened, and how it happened and **if** it happened, then I need to know why. Don’t you love me anymore? Don’t you think I’m attractive anymore? Because if one of those two things is the case, then we can call it quits and all of this is in vain._

_I know I spend too much time working. I’ll… I’ll try to work on that. I’m willing to work on that, on our relationship. But I need to know now if… if we still have a chance, Jazz. I need to know the truth. Now is not the time to be passive and say Yes and Amen to everything I’m proposing. I want you to fight for me._

_But, if that’s not what you want, I… I’ll have to accept that. ~~I’ll be devastated,~~ I can live with that but just, please tell me the truth._

_I think I deserve that, after all these years._

_Alice_

“Did you mean that?” Jasper asked when she stopped reading. Both of them were crying by now, the tears silent in his case, and loud in hers. “That you were willing to work on it?”

“You didn’t sleep with Maria,” she said instead, looking at him with a reproachful look. “Why did you let me believe that you did?”

He flinched and averted his eyes, glancing down at his hands. “Because… you hardly even looked at me anymore. I guess I was just bitter. And I couldn’t believe that you would think that of me. I was quite upset about that.”

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Her words made him laugh. “Yeah. I wrote that in my letter.” He looked up again. “Do you… want me to read it to you, too?”

Alice moved closer, and shook her head. He could only stare at her; she was so close, her lips only inches away from his. His eyes wandered down.

“I do, but…” she bit her bottom lip, “… not right now. You can read it after.”

He swallowed, his eyes still fixed on her lips. “After what?”

“After you’ve kissed me, you idiot.”


End file.
